Dan Bejar and Chuck Klosterman, wearing a handpicked suit from the set of “Scarface” and a pair of torn jeans and Nike sneakers, respectively, stand in the corner of a seedy Ibiza club. “Suicide Demo for Kara Walker” blares from the speakers as sweaty 20-somethings share bodily fluids on the dance floor.

As someone who’s always been compared to Bowie, it’s interesting to hear you finally ascend from Rubies‘ maximalist take on Hunky Dory into his disco period. Would you describe Kaputt as your Station to Station?

BEJAR:

I heard the record, it’s all right.

KLOSTERMAN:

Seriously, though. I don’t think anyone would’ve expected this kind of record from you. Cheeseball synthesizers, syncopated drumming, hot sax – some of the lyrics are almost sincere! It’s like Gerry Rafferty’s ghost convinced you to leave your people-hating-cave.

BEJAR:

I sent a message in a bottle to the press. It said, “Don’t be afraid or disgusted with yourselves.”

An underage-looking girl in a Pavement shirt brushes against Klosterman on her way to the bathroom.

KLOSTERMAN:

Hard not to be in here.

The DJ puts on “Deacon Blues.” The crowd takes a break.

KLOSTERMAN:

Hey, why don’t we get a drink? We can talk about “Diamond Dogs.” I have this theory that you realized the most contrarian thing you could possibly do after “Shooting Rockets” would be to make a ’70s cheese record and —

BEJAR:

The world does not like me grim.

Steely Dan enter the club and head directly to the duo.

DONALD FAGEN:

We’re going to talk about Aja.

WALTER BECKER:

That’s right. How are you, Dan?

BEJAR:

I was poor in love, I was poor in wealth, I was OK in everything else.

The quartet moves to the bar. Becker orders a dirty martini.

BECKER:

We heard the record and had to meet you. All those impenetrable lyrics married to that suave cool? We’ve been calling you Steely Dan Bejar.

FAGEN:

We could practically hear the coke dust flying off the snare hits. And those back-up soul singers? Hot.